


The Hood

by aceofsparrows



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/F, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Robin Hood AU, bows and arrows ftw, medieval probs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-06-10 19:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19512985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofsparrows/pseuds/aceofsparrows
Summary: David Jacobs of Hill-Upon-Sherwood is pretty sure his life will be just as boring as his father's and his father's father's and every other Jacobs before him.Then he meets Jack Kelly, and things get a whole lot more interesting.*CURRENTLY ON HIATUS*(My muse hates me and doesn’t want to cooperate... I’m so sorry y’all)





	1. David Jacobs of Hill-Upon-Sherwood

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know why this hasn't been done before (that I can find); Robin Hood AU is like, THE perfect Newsies AU....
> 
> Naturally, I had to try my hand at writing it. 
> 
> I'm trying to do as much research as I can for this, but at the end of the day it's probably going to be a melange of historically accurate feudal-England facts and shiz I made up for the simplicity of the plot. 
> 
> Giant kudos and thank you to ArtemisRayne and their fic "The Truth About the Stars", I owe much of my inspiration to that FANTASTIC fic. 
> 
> Also, a shoutout to the short story "Every Shade of Red" by Elliot Wake from the book "All Out".... it is a HEARTBREAKING & BEAUTIFUL story, and planted the seeds of this fic in my brain. 
> 
> Well, here goes!
> 
> NOTE: This chapter is from both Davey and Jack's POVs (it's pretty easy to tell which is which). Most chapters after this will be from a single character's perspective, but I thought this first one was important to have from both.

The forest is quiet, mercifully so. David slips silently through the trees, bow at the ready. He’s had the tail of this deer for a good hour, but not gotten close enough yet to kill it. His arrow is notched, middle two fingers of his left hand grasping either side of the fletchings, poised for the drawback when he gets the chance. 

The deer stops, ears twitching, and David pauses too, not so much as blinking so as not to frighten the delicate animal. It bends to eat a bit of lichen off a fallen log and David sees his moment, raising his bow and drawing back with as little sound as possible. Line up the sight line, remember what his father taught him about shooting through the eye... the buck turns its head and David breathes in, ready to let fly. But just as he’s about to release something snaps up in the canopy and the buck startles, taking off on long legs into the underbrush. David huffs in frustration, letting his bow go loose and replacing the arrow into the quiver. Then he scowls up at the tree canopy above him. 

“You just cost me a week’s worth of good meals, you know,” he says to no one in particular. It was probably just some squirrel or bird in the branches of the tree that made the noise that scared off the deer, but he feels the need to blame someone, partially because his father will certainly blame _him_ when he returns home empty handed. Maybe he can shoot a few pheasants or something on the way home to soften the loss, he muses, kicking a moss-coated stump in absent annoyance. His toe collides with the hard wood through the thin leather of his boot and David lets out a soft hiss of pain and the tree above him laughs. 

Wait, what? 

David squints up at the canopy, but can’t see anyone. “Who goes there?” 

The laughter comes again, this time accompanied by a slight rustle of the foliage. “I might ask the same of you, hunter,” says a voice, and David can almost hear the smirk in its tone. It irks him, this taunting voice in the trees, for it was probably _it_ that scared the buck and cost him his dinner. 

“I am David Jacobs of Hill-Upon-Sherwood, and as you so astutely noticed, I _was_ a hunter until you scared away my prey.” He doesn’t try to mask his annoyance, but the voice from above seems unperturbed. 

“Oh really,” it laughs, making David scowl. “I scared away your prey? Are you sure it wasn’t your lacking hunting skills?” 

Instead of dignifying the jab with a flippant response, David decides to repeat his original question. “Who are you?” 

The leave rustle again, and a figure emerges. It drops expertly to the ground to stand in front of David, and he finds himself face to face with a boy not much older than himself, who is smiling like he knows some dirty secret David doesn’t. 

“My name is Jack Kelly, or as I’m more commonly known, the Hood, and you my friend, are hunting in my forest.” 

* * *

The boy is almost silent on his feet, slipping through the underbrush as if he’s swimming through water. Jack watches him for an hour or so, staying high enough in the trees so the boy doesn’t see him. He’s fascinating, one of the best hunters Jack has seen in a long time. He holds his bow like it’s an extension of his arm, muscles taught and ready to pull back at any second. Jack only lets his gaze linger on the boy’s bare shoulders for a fleeting moment; he’s seen his fair share of pretty bodies, and this one shouldn’t distract him from the task at hand any more than any other. And yet… here he is, trailing some stranger in the woods when he could be doing other, more important things. He tells himself that this _is_ important, that this boy could be the missing piece to the Merry that he’s been searching for. 

The deer finally stops, pausing to snuffle in the lichen, and the boy readies for the kill. Jack leans ever so slightly, watching in rapture as he pulls the bowstring taught and- 

Jack’s foot slips on the dew-slick bark and makes an infuriatingly loud scraping. The deer startles, darting away, and the boy sighs in exasperation. Jack curses under his breath, feeling somehow guilty for the animal’s getaway. The boy looks up briefly at the leaves behind which Jack is hidden, scowling. 

“You just cost me a week’s worth of good meals, you know,” he snaps, and Jack is momentarily frozen, worried he has been spotted. But then the boy looks down, none the wiser to his observer from above, and kicks a nearby stump, hissing when his foot connects with the half-frozen wood harder than he meant it to. Jack can’t help it; he laughs. 

The boy’s spine snaps straight, ears pricked at the unusual sound. “Who goes there?” He demands, and Jack, in a split second decision, laughs again.

“I might ask the same of you, hunter,” Jack calls down, smiling as he watches the boy try to find the source of the voice (to no avail). 

“I am David Jacobs of Hill-Upon-Sherwood, and as you so astutely noticed, I _was_ a hunter until you scared away my prey,” the boy replies, obviously annoyed by Jack’s toying with him. This however makes Jack smile wider, enjoying not only the rush of playing at God but also the scarlet blush of anger that tints the pale boy’s cheeks and neck. 

“Oh really,” Jack answers, and the boy looks ready to strangle the source of this strange voice. “I scared away your prey? Are you sure it wasn’t your lacking hunting skills?” He’s playing with him now, taking a jab to see what he does. Jack is testing this strange boy, even if he doesn’t know it yet. Jack watches carefully, noting the slight twitch of a muscle in the boy’s jaw, the only thing that gives away his mounting anger. _Good,_ Jack thinks, smiling. _Well done_. 

“Who are you?” He asks, tone steady despite his obvious annoyance. Jack decides it’s time to make his entrance; as extravagantly as possible, so as to show the boy exactly what he’s gotten himself into. And maybe, Jack concedes in the back of his mind, just to show off a bit to this fascinating, beautiful strange hunter in the woods. He jumps lightly from the branches, landing soft on the forest floor and straightening to come nose to nose with the boy. Well, they _would_ be nose to nose if the boy wasn’t so goddamned tall. Christ, he’s got legs like a stork and a torso that makes Jack feel like Spot Conlon. Nevertheless, he puffs up his chest, putting his nonchalant roguish charm on full blast. 

“My name is Jack Kelly, or as I’m more commonly known, the Hood, and you my friend, are hunting in my forest.” 


	2. Man of Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David learns more about this mysterious Jack Kelly, and is faced with a tough decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This updating speed is unprecedented.... yeah, I doubt it'll ever happen again. This chapter is mostly pre-plot work, which is my least favorite thing to write, but needs to be done nonetheless. Hopefully, it's interesting enough that you'll want to stick with the story lol

David has heard the bedtime story version more than once, and he’ll be the first to admit he is a bit of a skeptic. A man (a boy) who lives in the forest with band of other misfits, robbing the rich like highwaymen to feed the poor? It sounds almost inconceivable, and at the very least, unintimidating. After all, David’s known these woods his whole life, and he’s never once come across this "Hood" character. 

Well, not until today at least. 

The boy in front of David is young, maybe a year or so David’s senior. His hair is cut short and choppy, different than David’s own longer curls that settle just below his ears. He wears a brown-green tunic that shimmers slightly in the midday light and his dark cloak has a large, pointed hood from which he probably received his legendary name. David notices his strong, broad build, how he seems to be no stranger to hard labour. 

But he’s still just a boy, unarmed and alone in the forest. David wonders how this boy— this Jack Kelly— could be the Hood of his mother’s stories. David’s curiosity is piqued, if he is to be honest, but he has to be careful not to make himself seem _too_ gullible; who knows what sort of danger he may unknowingly be in. Therefore, David retreats into a comfortable front of dry sarcasm and skepticism. 

“ _Your wood_?” He parrots, incredulous. The boy raises an eyebrow at him, as if accepting the challenge David has unknowingly put forth. 

“Yes, _my wood_. I’ve enough men under my persuasion ta control every inch of it if I wanted to.” 

This time it is David’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “I have lived adjacent to Sherwood my whole life, and yet have never heard more tell of you or your Merry than in traveling minstrel tunes and stories my mother recites for my younger brother at bedtime. I doubt my hunting a stray buck or two could really so much disrupt your _legendary_ power.” 

Jack— the Hood— chuckles, and for some reason David finds it slightly harder to be mad at him. “Don’t worry Dave, I didn’t scare off that buck on purpose. I got no qualms with the occasional hunter, provided they don’t mess with me or my boys.” He flashes a hint of a smile, and David frowns. 

“Then why the theatrics?” 

“Eh, every bloke needs a little fun once an’ awhile, nah? I just wan’ed ta scare ya enough that ya wouldn’t go blabbing ta somebody else a little higher up that the fearsome Hood is jus’ some kid same age as you.” 

David shrugs, shifting his quiver on his back. “That makes sense. You sure don’t look very _fearsome_ up close,” he says, smirking, and Jack rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, whatever. Anyway, there _was_ actually a point ta me revealing myself to you an’ all: I wan’ed ta offer you a job.” 

“A job?” Despite the fact that David is glad to know why exactly Jack is here, he’s skeptical about how valid he could be for a potential job. No one that he’s ever known would even think of giving him a job, and yet, Jack is after about five minutes of acquaintance. “You’re offering _me_ a job? Jack, I’m a--” 

“I know what ya are, Dave, an’ you think I give a rat’s?” Jack gives him a hard look, and David stops trying to protest. “I got all kinds ‘a kids in my Merry, ya think I care what you is? Nah. Anyway, you’s the only guy I’s met ta date tha’ could do this job, so I en’t gonna be givin’ it out to anyone else anytime soon.” 

David sighs. “Okay, I’m listening.” 

Jack sits casually on the half-frozen stump, crossing his ankles lazily. David crosses his arms, sighing and shifting from foot to foot, still not quite comfortable with the situation. “I want ya to be my ace archer. Ya know, hide in th’ trees, keep lookout, pick off anyone who needs ta be picked off. I’s the best archer in th’ group right now, an’ I need a back up. So, you in? You got good talent, and you’s decent at keepin’ ya emotions in check, so I think you’s the best one fer the job.” 

David is silent, absently chewing the inside of his cheek as the proposition turns over in his head. He can see exactly in his mind’s eye the sort of scene that will play out when he arrives home later in the afternoon. Not having a buck, his parents will be disappointed, though his mother won’t show it outright. His father will demand to know why they will go relatively hungry again this week, reminding David of the horrible winter they have just suffered through, and David will make up some sort of excuse about the scarcity of bucks during mating season, and still get beaten for it anyway. His mother will sigh and turn away and stir the thin stew that is barely more than winter-dried vegetables and weak, salty broth, and his sister won’t even look up from her spinning in the corner, calloused fingers feeling their way through the constant turn of the spinning wheel, unseeing eyes fixed on some far off point at her feet. 

It is a dismal outlook, but the only thing David has ever known. At home, he has no future, doomed to working the land as his father has his whole life, and his father’s father did before him. Maybe someday he will take a wife and have children, not because he wants to, but because he will need a son to work the land when he is old and a daughter or two to help his wife. He will pay taxes to the King, and it will never be enough, and he will go hungry more days than he can count. 

Or he could run off into the woods to shoot arrows for this random boy he’s only just met, and probably never see his parents or siblings again. And maybe, in that scenario, he’ll have a moment to happiness, or a full meal, or never get married. 

Jack clears his throat, raising an eyebrow. “Ya still thinkin’, Dave?”

David frowns. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." He takes a deep breath, shifting his weight again, then uncrossing his arms and recrossing them. Jack doesn't blink. "Your offer is intriguing, Jack, but it's a decision I can't make lightly. How about this: come back here, to this stump, tonight at midnight. If I'm here, I've decided to join you. If I'm not, I've decided to decline." 

Jack nods, turning the proposition over in his head. "Yeah, okay. I'll wait from midnight 'till half past, and if ya ain't here by then, then I'm not bugging ya again." He spits into his hand, holding it out for David to shake. 

David frowns. "That's disgusting." 

Jack smiles, wide and just slightly mischievous. "That's just the price 'a doin' business, Dave." 

Sighing, David spits into his own palm and shakes Jack's calloused hand firmly but reluctantly. "Well, alright then. Tonight, midnight." 

Jack nods. "Midnight." 

David turns to leave, and when he looks back ten paces away from the meeting place, Jack has vanished. 

_Man of mystery indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I'm heading off on a three week hiatus today and will be without internet, so I won't be able to post until August (or read anybody else's fics; oh woe is me!) 
> 
> Fortunately, I will hopefully have lots of time to write and will have at least one new chapter to type up and post when I get back. :)
> 
> Thank you to those who commented on the first chapter, or even just left Kudos. It means a whole lot to me to know you like what I'm writing and want to see more!!!!!!!


	3. The Most Humble Jacobses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the Jacobs family is introduced, and David makes his choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!!! WOw, seeing all of the comments from the last two chapters in my inbox seriously made my day.... I'm so glad y'all are excited to see where this goes :) 
> 
> (I've been rereading Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell recently, and it's made me so motivated to write and post lol)
> 
> This chapter was a lot harder to write than the previous two for some reason, and I'm sorry if some of the characterisation doesn't seem super strong.... like I said, these exposition chapters are some of my least favorite to write.... I can't wait to get to the fun part!! (aka the Newsies.... really I'm just excited to get to writing the Newsies lol)
> 
> BIG HISTORICAL NOTE: So technically this fic takes place in 1192ish England bc it's Robin Hood, but I can only do so much research before it mucks up the actual writing, so I've decided to take HUGE artistic license with the historical/cultural accuracy. Ex: I have no idea how anyone actually talked in 1192, nor a very good grip on writing yorkshire/cockney dialect, so I'm just gonna write the dialogue as I would usually in a canon-period Newsies piece. (There will probably be British slang used tho, bc it's part of my vocabulary already lol) I'm also fudging some of the geographical details, because why not. (Ex: moorlands are only in some regions of the UK, and Nottingham/Sherwood is not quite in Yorkshire, but I wanted a moorland in my story, so I've fudged the geography a bit to make it work lol) 
> 
> ANYWAY...  
> Hope you like it! With luck the next one will be up sometime next week :) :) 
> 
> Enjoy!

The evening mist is gathering in the low dips of the moor as David trudges home-- it looks particularly sinister in the grey light. The air smells of rain; David adds a leaking roof the list of things his father will be angry about. His wrist throbs petulantly as he catches sight of his family’s small cottage and he tightens his grip on his bow. He had no luck with pheasants on the journey home and is returning empty-handed, just as he had feared.

Surprisingly, however, his father is out of the house when David arrives. His mother is building the hearth fire in preparation for supper, and his sister is hunched at the small family table, darning a pair of stockings.

“Hullo, Mum,” David says carefully, hanging his bow and embarrassingly full quiver on the hook by the door.

“Oh, David!” His mother straightens, wiping her ash-covered hands on her apron to give her eldest son a quick embrace. “How was the hunt today?”

David is suddenly very fascinated with a spot on the toe of his right boot; there’s a small scuff on the leather where he kicked that stump earlier. “Well, I didn’t really find much, Mum.” There’s another hole forming on the instep of his left boot too, the stitches starting to wear out and sag. “Matin’ season an’ all that... I tried to find some pheasants instead, but it’s still too cold for ‘em to be out much, so that was a no as well.”

His mother sighs. “Oh, David.”

“I know, Mum.”

“Your father will be mighty cross about this when he gets home, David.”

“I _know_ , Mum.”

Sarah laughs harshly from her seat at the table, and mutters, “when is Father not cross: that’s the real riddle.”

David looks up finally from his feet to find their mother frowning at her. “Now, Sarah, watch your tongue. You’ll never become a wife with that sort of disrespect for the man of the house, now will you?”

“No, Mother,” Sarah drones, still gazing vacantly at her sewing.

“Exactly.”

Satisfied with the state of her eldest children, David’s mother returns to her task, setting the pot of leftover porridge on the hook above the fire. David grimaces, knowing that because they have no meat today, they’ll be eating the mealy porridge again tonight for supper.

As usual. 

Sighing heavily, David sits across the small table from his sister, stacking his fists on the tabletop to rest his chin on them. 

“How goes it, dear sister?” He asks in a low voice.

Sarah puffs a sigh that flutters a stray lock of hair floating near her nose, and pulls her needle forcefully through the thick wool of the stocking she’s darning.

“Oh, you know. Spinning, darning, sleeping, staring blankly out of the window even though there’s nothing to see, then spinning, darning and sleeping some more. The Devil’s wheel, and all that.” 

David laughs. He and Sarah share a sense of humor that often leans towards the blasphemous and macabre. They don’t talk as much as they used to, not since their parents began to focus more upon their eldest children’s futures and less on the children themselves. Their mother spends most of her days fussing and fretting, trying desperately to prepare Sarah for marriage now that she’s nearing seventeen, despite the fact that they all know it will be hard to find her a husband. Sarah has been blind as a bat since she and David were quite young, and she doubts any husband their parents can ever find will ever love a wife who can’t pay him even the basest of compliments or even look him in the eye.

The door of the cottage rattles on its wooden hinges just as Sarah is neatly knotting her thread, and the _thump_ of the door closing crookedly announces the arrival of the youngest Jacobs in all his muddy glory. Les spends most of his days playing knights and dragons with some of the other boys who live on the edges of their village; despite the fact that he’s almost ten, their father has yet to set him up as an apprentice with a craftsman in Nottingham.

Perhaps it is because even their father himself almost never ventures into Nottingham unless he absolutely has to. David knows well that they Jacobses are not well received by the villagers. 

“What’s for supper, Mum?” Les demands, tromping through the cottage to flop unceremoniously on the cot in the corner, either oblivious or simply uncaring that he’s tracking heavy spring mud everywhere. 

“Porridge, darling,” their mother replies. 

“Ecgh.”

“I know, darling. We might’ve had fresh venison, but your brother decided to prove today that he’s just as much a useless hunter as his father.” 

Les moans dramatically, and David thumps his forehead on the table in frustration.

“It wasn’t my _fault_ , Mum, you know I couldn’t find any—“ David starts to protest, voice raised to compensate for the fact that he’s facedown on the tabletop, but he never finishes, as his father chooses that exact moment to make his entrance as well.

Mayer Jacobs is not a particularly physically intimidating man, but if one were to look for a moment in his eyes, one would certainly feel outmatched. His eyes are a steel-grey-blue, his wiry curls starting to salt and pepper; his beard is long and dark, however, setting him visibly apart from his peers. He has an air about him that few of his fellow peasants possess, one that seems to pull attention and focus from everything else in a room to him all at once.

David, try as he might to not, hates him.

“Good evenin’,” he says as he closes the door behind him, scraping his muddy boots on the rough rush mat. Mayer casts his gaze about the cottage, and all three of his children straighten in their respective seats, feeling the judgement in his gaze. Any disrespect may send Mayer into a mood, and when their father is in a mood, any child’s infraction means potential for pain.

“Good evenin’,” his wife replies, coming away from the bubbling porridge to kiss her husband briefly. “How goes it?” 

“Village is gettin’ restless. The Prince’s raised taxes again.” 

“Again?”

“‘Fraid so. And the Sheriff’s gettin’ harsher on the deadlines after that Hood fellow and his ruffians harassed some of the Prince’s men on the road through Sherwood yesterday.”

David’s breath catches on his father’s words. The Hood robbing the Prince’s men just yesterday in Sherwood? Jack didn’t mention that he needed David’s archery skills for something like that, something _criminal_.

Then again, David has also heard whispers of what the Hood does with what he steals. _The Hood robs from the rich to give to the poor,_ is what his mother has always said in her tall tales, and David reassures himself that this is much nobler a cause than simple thievery.

“Porridge for supper again?” Mayer remarks, glancing at the pot.

His wife shrugs. “David was unsuccessful this afternoon in shooting any game. Therefore, porridge.”

Mayer looks to David, who knew this interrogation was coming. “Unsuccessful, huh boy? What, have all the bucks in England suddenly vanished?”

“N—no, no, sir. Simply, uh, scarce because of um, matin’ season.” David stutters, holding eye contact with his father no matter how much he wants to look away. 

“Matin’ season, eh? Well, a’ight. Porridge it is then.” Mayer turns away from his older son, and David swallows thickly, glancing to where Sarah is sitting with her lips pursed across the table. It seems they have dodged a storm for now, but they cannot relax yet. Something else could happen, and then everything will go wrong exactly how it’s supposed to. 

Dinner passes in mundane agony, and as evening slips into night the family slowly retires to the cots behind the curtain until only David and Mayer remain at the table.

“So, will you be hunting again tomorrow, son?” Mayer asks, holding the piece of wood he has been whittling for the past few hours to the light of the candle.

“Yes... sir,” David replies, hands fiddling with the hem of his tunic in his lap. 

“Of course. It was a silly question. Got to keep hunting until you actually _catch_ something, don’t you, boy?” A particularly large curl of wood falls to the tabletop, and Mayer nods approvingly at his handiwork.

“Yes, sir,” David says again, and his hands have moved from his hem to idly rub the fingers of the leather gloves he still wears despite being indoors.

“I always hoped you’d be a farmer, like I was— like your grandfather was when he came to this country. But you didn’t take to farming, so I decided maybe hunting was more of your calling.” David is unsure as to where this little speech by his father is going, but wherever that is, David is sure it won’t end well. “But it seems maybe I was wrong about hunting as well. You’re a perfectly adequate archer— I’ve seen you shoot myself— and yet you still never manage to kill more than a small pheasant or two. So I ask you, David,” Mayer turns the small wooden bird in the light, and the candle’s flame catches in the reflection of the whittling knife, making it seem as if both knife and bird are ablaze. “I ask you, son, what do you think your purpose is here on Earth? Because I think you may not be worth horse shit.”

He sets down his knife and whittling then, rising out of his chair to cross the room. David already knows what he is doing, even if he can’t see his father well in the darkness of the single-candle-lit room.

Mayer comes back into the light holding a switch, and David doesn’t even flinch when the first hit lands its stinging blow across his left cheek.

He simply sits, mind flashing to the earlier afternoon, and its moss-covered forest stump.

The switch strikes again, this time on the right, and David once again does not flinch. He thinks instead of the budding foliage, the trees thick with almost-blooms.

Left cheek, _thwack_ — the laughing tree above him. Right cheek, _thwack_ — the mysterious boy in the green pointed cloak. Left cheek, flinch, right cheek, cringe, _thwack_ , _thwack_ , _thwack_ — the light dancing in Jack’s eyes as he made Davey an offer he couldn’t refuse. 

Mayer pulls back once more, this time with a darkness in his eyes David hopes he will never have in his own, and David doesn’t even see the switch connect with his face before everything fades into darkness.

Somewhere in his subconscious, Jack is still laughing. 

* * *

It is well into the night by the time Davey wakes, face throbbing. The candle has gone out, and it takes him a few moments to adjust to the darkness before he can sit up and see properly. The sleeping curtain is drawn, and the cottage is quiet, so David assumes that his family has gone to bed.

By the light of the moon that’s drifting across the floor from the window, it’s much later than David would like, but he still estimates he’s got more than enough time to get to the forest. 

Absently, he swipes at his pulsing face with the sleeve of his tunic, and it comes away sticky wet with what is probably blood. David sighs a weary sigh and ignores it.

Gathering a wineskin from the shelf over the hearth and a small crust of bread, David packs a sack with an extra blanket and underclothes. He shoulders the sack when he thinks he has everything prepared, and crosses his back with his quiver as well, taking his bow carefully from its hook by the door. He reaches for the door latch and slipping the bolt quietly back when—

“Whaddaya doin’, Davey?” a voice whispers. David stops abruptly. Muscles tense, he glances behind him to find Les standing in the darkness, his small, round face illuminated only by the dying embers of the hearth and the shine of the full moon. He’s frowning, eyebrows pulled tight in concern.

David sighs. “Go to sleep, Les.”

“Why’re you leavin’?” There’s a soft betrayal to Les’ tone, and it takes the fight out of David’s body. He turns, standing limp with the table between himself and his younger brother.

“I’m starting over, Les. I can’t… I can’t stay here, living like this. I’ve met someone who’ll give me a chance, even with what I am, and I’m going to take it.”

Les stares at him for a moment. “Can I come with you?” He says finally, in a voice so impossibly small.

David shakes his head. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t, Les. I… I don’t know what I’m getting into, and I don’t want you to get hurt…” David knows it’s a flimsy excuse, but if he’s honest, he didn’t expect Les to even notice he was leaving.

David is used to being invisible, and Les spends half his waking hours telling David he hates him. Would he really have cared all that much if he’d woken up tomorrow and never seen his older brother again?

Les crosses his arms, expression changing from sad to stubborn. “You’re leavin’ because it’s bad here, but you want me to stay because where you’re goin’ might be worse? Now that’s just foolish.”

David doesn’t have an answer to that, and Les knows it, but just as David is about to turn and leave without another word, another figure emerges in the darkness from behind the curtain that divides the family’s sleeping area from the rest of the cottage. For a moment the brothers worry it is their mother, and they both let out a small sigh of relief when it is Sarah instead, clouded blue eyes wide in the pale half-light.

“What’s going on out here?” She asks, frowning, eyes focused somewhere just beyond David’s head.

David and Les exchange a look, and David swallows. “Nothing, Sarah. Go back to sleep.”

Sarah sighs, crossing her arms in practiced annoyance. “David,” she says, in a tone she usually reserves for Les when he’s being particularly trying. “I can tell when you’re lying. So please, just tell me what you’re doing.”

“Sarah, I--”

“He’s leaving us!” Les interrupts, and David curses under his breath, reaching across the table to smack his younger brother on the shoulder. Les just sticks his tongue out at David in reply.

Sarah purses her lips together, glancing downwards. “David,” she says again, but this time it’s more of a sigh. “Is it true?”

“Yes.”

A flicker of something like resolve passes over Sarah’s face so fast David wonders momentarily if he’s imagined it, and when she looks up again her jaw in hard-set, blue eyes turned a steely grey by the dusky shadows. “I’m coming with you.”

David sighs; this is turning out to be so much harder than he thought it would be. “Sarah, you know I can’t--”

“David,” Sarah says once more, with more fire this time than the previous occasions. She holds up a hand as if to reinforce her point. “You’ve heard Mother and Father’s whisperings. You know what they mean to do with me. I have no more future here than you do. I’m. Coming. With. You.” 

Sarah narrows her gaze, and David sighs. As stubborn as he may be, David knows when he’s beat.

“Alright, then. You two can come.” He turns, moving toward the window to check the time. It’s nearing midnight, and he still has to make the journey to his and Jack's meeting place. “But we have to hurry; I’m meeting Jack at midnight.”

Sarah lets out a breathy laugh. “So this mysterious person you’re meeting in the woods has a name then? Jack… well, he doesn’t _sound_ like a criminal.”

David turns, suddenly defensive. “I never said he _was_ , Sarah.”

Sarah just smiles, shaking her head, and David adjusts his sack and quiver in annoyance.

“Les, go get an extra bit of bread from the hearth and another wineskin. Put on your boots, too, the strong ones. We should leave sooner rather than later.” Les scurries away to find what David asks, and David himself retrieves Sarah’s boots from the corner near the door. He cannot remember the last time she wore them and hopes passingly that they still fit her slender feet.

“Here, Sarah.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, taking her boots from her brother and sitting carefully to put them on. Despite the time since she last wore them, her fingers move swiftly and deftly as she laces them up, the digits lithe and nimble from all her hours of needlework and spinning. 

When Les returns with the food, his feet snuggled into his boots, David casts his gaze one final time around their little cottage. Everything is in its place in the darkness, and there is almost no evidence of their leaving. Good, he thinks. Just as it should be.

"Are you sure you want to come?" He asks his brother and sister quietly, one final time. "It will most likely be dangerous, and we may never see Mother and Father again." 

Sarah quietly takes one of David's hands in hers, and then after a moment's pause, Les takes the other. "We're coming," Sarah says, barely above a murmur, and she squeezes David's hand in reassurance.

Together the three of them set off into the darkness, their cottage and their childhoods disappearing slowly behind them into the mist. Above, a full moon glows, swollen big and yellow with the promise of a bright new dawn ahead.

David wishes Sarah could see the stars.


	4. The Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David finally meets the Merry, and participates in his first raid, which goes only mostly according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... remember how I said Chapter 4 would be up soon? lol
> 
> Good news: I have the whole rest of the story plotted out and know what's gonna happen from here on out (at least generally).  
> Bad news: Actually getting it down on paper (so to speak) is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated. I'm currently dealing with a large course load, applying to college (yay!) AND also trying to work on my original work (which I've just started posting here on AO3 for feedback/motivation bc I discovered you can post original works here too, yay!). 
> 
> So basically, I will most definitely be finishing this story, and I'm going to post at least one or two chapters a month, but unfortunately that's about as much as I can guarantee. 
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE COMMENTED ON EVERY CHAPTER SO FAR IT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME. I know that it's hard when an author doesn't post super regularly, seriously, but I'm finding more and more that life has an annoying habit of getting in the way of creativity. Please keep reading; we'll get through this journey together. :) 
> 
> I have quite the ride planned out for David and Jack and everyone in Nottingham, and I can't wait to see where it takes them. :) 
> 
> And with that, here is Chapter 4, after many hours of muse-wandering and anxious editing.  
> Enjoy!  
> -Sparrow

It’s early morning when the Jacobs siblings and Jack arrive at the Merry’s current camp, and yet everyone seems to be up and going about their business. Jack leads them with practiced ease about the camp, giving nods and waves to the boys he passes, and David can’t help but stare; there really are all sorts here— Jack wasn’t lying about that bit. Everyone is young, with the youngest seeming to be six or seven and the eldest he or Jack’s age. Most of the children are boys from what David observes, but there are a few he spots that may in fact be girls— younger than Les in majority— mixed in with the rest. 

They camp in hodgepodge tents and forest-made lean-tos, clustered together, humming like bees around a hive. Some polish weapons as long as their arms, others stoke fires for cooking, and still others scrub tunics with rough lye, dirtying the water in their buckets with something that David hopes is mud but suspects may actually be blood. Those that aren’t doing chores play fight with roughhewn wooden swords or sit in the trees like squirrels, dribbling stolen breadcrumbs down upon passers by. They are a raggedy bunch of feral children, and yet Jack grins at them all as if they are kings and queens and princes and knights. 

Les looks just about ready to burst, eyes gleaming with possibility, and David wonders briefly whether it was really such a good idea to let him come along. 

“Help, please, David,” Sarah mutters as Jack leads them past a particularly large fire pit whose embers are being prodded by a gleeful and impossibly small boy with his two front teeth missing. Sarah squeezes David’s hand (which she has been holding since they met up with Jack earlier that night) and he clears his throat. 

“Right, um, well...” David hasn’t had to be Sarah’s eyes in quite a some time, and there is so much to see at the moment he’s not quite sure where to start.

*** * ***

Crouched in the trees, David worries at the edge of his tunic with his gloved thumb and forefinger. He eyes the path below him carefully, gaze combing the surroundings for any sign of the Prince’s men. _Most raids are a waitin’ game_ , Jack told him earlier as they readied their weapons and gathered supplies. _Ya sit up in the trees for minutes, sometimes hours, waitin’ till ya get a good sight on them soldiers._

Speaking of Jack, the Hood himself is perched in the tree directly across the path from David, legs dangling. He looks completely at ease in the foliage, quiver slung loosely over one shoulder, bow laying ready across his lap. He doesn’t _look_ prepared, but David knows better. Jack can react at a moment’s notice, could pin a man to a tree by his eyelid in half a second if he wanted to. 

David hopes he won’t have to see Jack in action. 

Realistically, David isn’t very worried about himself or Jack. With luck, they won’t have to do much during the raid. It’s the kids on the ground that make David’s stomach turn, the ones who will have to actually engage with the Prince’s men or whomever they encounter on the road. And maybe David shouldn’t be worried about the boys in the group-- they’ve all been doing this for months and are quite experienced at the art of stealthy highway robbery-- but Les insisted he come along for his first raid, and it makes David impossibly anxious knowing his little brother is down there out of his control. 

A lilting whistle comes from a low tree on David’s left, and he tightens his grip on his bow. A breath later the whistle comes again, this time accompanied by the distant thunder of hooves. Although he can’t see them, David knows that all the boys below him are holding their breath. Any moment now the first soldier will come into view and Race will give a third whistle and everyone will spring into action. In this moment just before they sit coiled, tension building in their limbs in anxious anticipation. 

_Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath--_

The four note signal whistle. 

_A startled yell. The clang of steel. Jack, across the path, frowning and firing an arrow down at something David cannot see._

David leans farther off his branch to get a good look at what’s happening below and pales slightly. Not only is he much higher than he realized earlier, but the battle below is unlike anything he's every seen. A tangled mess of bodies, the shining clash of swords and clubs and whatever other primitive weapons the Merry are wielding against the Prince's men. 

Except-- _are_ those the Prince's men? David doesn't recognize the Prince's colors; the soldiers below are swathed in commoners' browns and grays, and their swords are not decorated. 

Something is wrong. 

Below, David hears a shout. "They's foolin' us. Hoof it, boys!" The Merry heeds their second's warning, abandoning their battles and scattering back into the trees. A few of the opposition start to give chase, but their leader calls them back with words David can't distinguish and soon they have mounted their horses and ridden off. 

In the tree across from David's, Jack is sitting perfectly still, staring down at the empty road. David weighs his options for a moment, then decides that the men are probably far enough gone that he's safe raising his voice and calls out. 

"Psst, Jack!" 

The Hood stiffens, anticipating a threat, but relaxes when he looks over and realizes it's just David. 

"Yeah, Dave?" 

"Shouldn't we, you know, get down from here?" 

Jack glances down at the road. "Sure. I reckon they's gotten far enough we won't run into no trouble." 

He shifts, slinging his bow over his shoulder to free his hands and swinging expertly around the thick trunk of the tree to disappear down into the foliage. David sighs, securing his own bow and trying not to think about how high up he is as he stands carefully and works his way back down. His legs are shaking from the concentrated effort when he blissfully reaches solid ground, and he slumps against the rough trunk, trying to calm his breathing. 

There's a chuckle from behind him, and after a moment Jack saunters into view, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes and his mouth twisted into a lopsided smile. "Not much of a tree climber, huh, Dave?"

David sighs, pressing his palms briefly to his eye sockets. "I've just never been up that high mostly." 

"Ah." 

"Yeah." 

After another moment David straightens and they set off, meandering down the path back towards camp. A sense of urgency lingers in David's subconscious, telling him that they're walking too slowly, that they got off too easily, but he tries to ignore it. Despite the little over three days that David has known Jack, he already trusts him rather implicitly. Besides, Jack knows this forest better than David does, so if he's not worried, then David shouldn't be either. 

Well, probably. 

They're coming upon the stream that skirts one border of Sherwood when Jack stops abruptly, tugging a bewildered David into the underbrush on the edge of the path with little warning. David tries to protest or at the very least ask what's going on as they crouch in the foliage, but Jack claps a calloused hand over his mouth to silence him before he can get much more than a surprised squeak out. 

A pair of horse hooves pound the path a few moments later, and David's eyes widen in understanding. He and Jack were being followed, most likely by one of the men from the raid earlier. 

"We gotta distract 'im," Jack hisses, hand still over David's mouth. They're crouched close together, and David thinks he can almost feel the smaller boy's heartbeat on his back. "We's gonna get outta this bush 'n go in the opp'site direction we was goin' before. We gotta lead this guy away from th' camp, Dave." 

David nods in acknowledgment since that's all he can really do with Jack's hand still over his mouth. Jack sighs, then counts to three quietly under his breath before darting out of the underbrush and onto the path, taking off at a run with David close at his heels. In the distance behind them David hears the man on the horse telling his steed to redirect and give chase to the two running boys. Despite the danger of the situation, however, David is grinning. He hasn't run this fast in years, and it feels so damn _good_. 

*** * ***

Sides stinging and lungs burning, Jack and David run until they reach the opposite edge of the forest. The trees begin to thin and the fields beyond come slowly into view, grasses rippling lazily in the late afternoon breeze. The rider is still close enough behind them, however, that the boys don't slow until they catch sight of a small encampment of brightly colored tent set up on the edge of the forest. Jack leads them at full tilt through the tall canvas alleyways until he finally comes to a breathless halt near the back of the biggest tent, panting. 

David stops as well, bracing his hands on his knees in an effort to catch his breath. He has very little idea how long they were running, but judging by how little oxygen his lungs are currently taking in it was quite a while. 

"Wha... whe.... Ja... Jack..." David takes a long, deep, gulping breath, and tries again. "Jack... where are we?" 

Jack, who is only marginally less winded than David, grins, adjusting his bow. "Best place ever. Also sorta my home away from home. You'll see." David shakes his head, smiling in spite of himself, and follows as Jack ducks through an opening in the bright red-and-purple striped canvas. 

David can't help but gasp quietly at what's inside the tent. The vaulted ceiling is higher than it looks from the outside, and a thin cloud of pipe smoke clings to the points of the ceiling, glowing hazily with the light from the lamp that hang from the support beams. All around he and Jack people bustle, and it takes David a few moments to realize what they're all doing. It seems to be some sort of backstage preparation tent, for at the other end of the long room he can see an opening that connects itself to a small stage illuminated in the fading afternoon light by more lanterns. 

Several large canvas backdrops are mounted on large wooden frames in one corner of the tent, and David trails along behind Jack as he crosses to them, eyes hungrily taking in as much as possible to everything that's goin on around him. They pass several women in foreign-looking costumes with large feathered fans who smile and wave to the boys, and David can't help but stare a bit more than he should. He's only heard stories about these sorts of traveling minstrel shows, after all, and it's thrilling to see one right here, in Sherwood, before his eyes.

Jack has reached the canvas backdrops and is running his fingers lightly in something David feels might be reverence when there's a shout from across the room that makes both of them jump. 

"Hey, no kids in the tent! And don't touch those backdrops, have you no respect for the art, boy?" 

David and Jack turn, and David is surprised when Jack grins and trots to meet the woman coming towards them instead of running in the opposite direction. 

"Not even me, Miss Medda?" 

The women seems to realize who Jack is and her frown melts into a delighted smile. "Jack Kelly, where've you been keeping yourself? Get over here and give your mother a hug, young man!" 

Jack obliges, accepting an enthusiastic embrace from the strange woman. "Never far from you, Miss Medda. Always waitin' fer you ta come back into town, I am. How goes the show business?" 

The woman, Miss Medda apparently, smiles, holding Jack at arm's length to look him up and down. "Oh, ya know, still singin' the King's praises and relatin' the tales of the people for all of Britain to hear, as one does." Jack nods, squirming away from Medda's grip and shifting his bow absently. 

"Good to hear, good to hear. Ya miss me yet?" 

Medda's grin widens. "You know I always miss you, darlin'. Been missin' you since the day you up and left me for a life 'a crime." She feigns injury and Jack laughs. "Besides, I've been hurtin' for a new backdrop and en't had ya around to paint me a new one. Thought it was high time I paid you and your Merry a visit so's you could lend that eye 'a yours to another canvas."

David frowns, looking back at the canvas behind them. The scene is a simple one, mostly just trees and sky with a sliver of river in one corner, but it's expertly done. It looks real, with every dapple of light and leaf texture captured just so so it almost feels as though you're looking right at the real forest. 

"Wait, you painted that, Jack?" David says, unable to keep the disbelief from creeping into his tone. Jack nods sheepishly. "It's really good, Jack." 

"Aw, it's nothin'," Jack mumbles, shrugging. 

"No, really, it's amazing," David says, eyes taking in every detail. "It looks really real, ya know? You's _really_ good, Jack." 

"Damn right he is," Miss Medda says, giving Jack an affectionate side-hug. Jack scuffs a toe in the dirt and has the self-aware decency to look slightly embarrassed by the motherly display of affection as she also plants a large kiss on the top of his head. "Jack is one of the best artist's I've eva met, and he en't even trained." 

Jack blushes, suddenly looking uncomfortable with all the attention, and pulls away from Medda's grip to straighten himself out a bit. "Hey, Miss Medda, I s'pose I should introduce ya to my new pal here. I picked 'im up fer 'is arch'ry, since I's the only archer left in the Merry afta Ben scarpered off." 

"Nice to meet you, darlin'. What you call you'self?" Medda asks, smiling expectantly at David. 

_David Jacobs of Hill-Upon-Sherwood_ , _m_ _a'am_ , David is about to answer, but then he stops. David has no intention of going back to his father and mother at Hill-Upon-Sherwood anytime soon, he realizes suddenly, so it's no longer rightfully part of his title. Nor does he intend upon carrying on the Jacobs family legacy, so rightfully he shouldn't take his father's surname any longer either. So what does that leave him with? His given name, David, which no one really ever called him but his mother and father, and Sarah when she was particularly cross with him. 

Somehow, David no longer has a name, so what does he tell Medda? 

Casting around for something, anything at all to say as the beat of silence stretches into awkwardness, David's mind alights on the striped ceiling of the tent and all at once he knows exactly what his new name will be. 

"Scarlett, ma'am, Davey Scarlett." 

"Well, I'm very glad to meet you Davey Scarlett," Medda replies, smiling that same smile she smiled at Jack, and David feels a blossom of warmth bloom in his chest. 

_Davey Scarlett_. 

Yes, that's just about perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew!  
> Again, thank you for reading, and let me know what you thought in the comments! :) Also, if you'd like to read some of my original work, I just posted the first in a series of short stories! It's called "Starlight" and it's about two best friends (and maybe more) in the 1930s/40s in England, and is primarily what I've been writing besides Hood for the last month. :) (THEY ARE MY BABIES AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH) (WELL, ALMOST AS MUCH AS I LOVE DAVEY AND JACK.... AND EVERY OTHER FICTIONAL CHARACTER EVER)
> 
> Have a great day!  
> -Sparrow


End file.
